To Love Fearlessly
by simplyshelbs16
Summary: A look at the relationship between Sherlock and Molly six months after TFP. Fearless /firləs/ adj. to be fearless is not the absence of fear, but to persist despite the fact you are afraid. I do not own the characters; Sir ACD and Moftiss/BBC do.
1. In a Good Place

She was running late. Only throwing on the first outfit she saw, Molly was about to escape through the door until she ran right into Sherlock.

"Sorry can't talk; I'm late," she told him. "But you can help yourself to whatever."

"Not to worry, you're already on the clock," Sherlock smirked.

"What?" her brows furrowed in confusion.

"I clocked you in when I realized you weren't at the hospital yet and told Stamford I needed you on the case; which I do. Which is why you're coming with me today," he explained.

"You know, being your girlfriend has its perks," Molly teased. "Thank you." Sherlock smiled proudly but it quickly faltered as he processed her words.

"You make it sound like a chore to be my girlfriend," he frowned.

"I was just teasing, love," she smiled before kissing his cheek. "Let's solve a crime."

* * *

"Sherlock," Lestrade greeted with a nod. "And Molly, hello."

"Hi," she greeted cheerily. Her eyes averted to the back of the cop car at the potential suspect. "Is he…?"

"Nude? Yes, unfortunately," Lestrade finished.

"Okay," was all Molly could say as she followed Sherlock to examine the corpse.

"Blunt force trauma, obviously; possibly from a pipe," he muttered, crouching down to get a better look.

"Cinder block or a brick, maybe?" Molly suggested, gesturing to the reddish dust on the man's forehead.

"Brick dust," Sherlock confirmed. "Yet the murder weapon was not found anywhere near here."

"We haven't found any weapon," Lestrade informed them. "Our suspect here was found passed out by the body in the nude."

"Okay, so what do you need me for?" Sherlock asked.

"The thing is, he doesn't remember a thing," Lestrade replied. "How, when and why? Nothing."

"So, he's possibly being framed?" Molly questioned.

"Excellent, Molly, I'll make a detective out of you yet," Sherlock smiled proudly. She smirked with a playful roll of her eyes.

* * *

Later that evening, Sherlock and Molly were on the sofa in 221B, a box of pizza between them. She had finally convinced him to eat at least a little bit during his cases and he obliged willingly. He was typing away on his laptop while Molly flipped through the channels on the telly, a slice of pizza in her hand. She settled on watching The Graham Norton Show; the only late night talk show she ever truly watched.

Surprisingly enough, Sherlock had taken a second slice of pizza. Molly laughed at the jokes being made and his eyes flicked over to her in awe briefly before returning to the screen of his laptop.

"I love your laugh," he slipped out. She responded with a chaste kiss to his cheek, carefully leaning over the pizza. When they were both done eating for the night, she put the box on the half-cleared off kitchen table before returning to sit by him. She loved their companionable silence; how they could be perfectly content just being in each other's presence. Molly curled up by his side as he instinctively wrapped an arm around her.

Eventually, she fell asleep tucked against his side and Sherlock set the laptop aside to carefully scoop her up in his arms. He carried her into his bedroom and laid her down, covering her up with the duvet. Before leaving to finish his work, he pressed a light kiss to her forehead. It was four in the morning before Sherlock slid into bed beside her. Molly felt the bed dip with his added weight and turned to lay her head on his chest, her arms thrown around him haphazardly. He wrapped her up in his arms in return and she nuzzled her nose against his neck affectionately before settling back into sleep.


	2. Bad News

Molly and Sherlock sat in her office on her lunch break. Sherlock had surprised her with fish and chips from their favourite shop just off Marylebone Road.

"Any leads on who the real murderer might be?" Molly asked, popping a chip into her mouth.

"I have an idea, but nothing substantial; I still need to find proof," Sherlock informed her. "I do not think the current suspect has done anything wrong at all."

"Like a wrong place, wrong time kind of thing?" she questioned further.

"Could be, but I'm betting that someone had a motive to frame him," he replied.

"Oh bugger," Molly laughed when she reached for another chip but her takeaway container was empty.

"Take mine," Sherlock insisted, sliding the rest of his toward her. "I have to meet Lestrade now anyways."

"Oh, okay. Thank you. Good luck!" Molly smiled. He kissed her chastely on the lips before turning to leave.

* * *

Later that evening, Molly returned to her flat and breathed a sigh of relief to finally be home. She kicked off her shoes, ready to draw herself a nice, warm bath when her mobile notified her of a voicemail. As she listened to the voice on the other end, it took everything in her to not throw it across the room from frustration. Instead, she phoned Sherlock.

"Are you busy?" she asked before allowing him to even greet her.

"Nope. On my way to Baker Street, why?" he told her. Nothing but a small sob escaped her lips. "Molly, what's wrong?"

"I need you," she cried.

"Stay there; I'm on my way," Sherlock told her. "I'll be there soon." Their call ended. "Change of plans," he told the cab driver.

* * *

Sherlock let himself in and found Molly curled up on the couch, still in her work clothes and her eyes rimmed with pink. He seated himself beside her and wrapped her up in his arms, rocking her gently.

"What is it, darling? What's wrong?" Sherlock asked.

"I have to sell it," she told him with a sigh. "The cottage I grew up in; I can't afford to keep paying on the property taxes anymore. It's the last thing I have of my dad's." Sherlock said nothing, but kissed her temple and continued to rock her. "I know it's stupid and I probably made things sound worse than it is but I just needed you."

"It's not stupid, Molly. I know how much it means to you," Sherlock assured her. He scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom, intending to draw a bath for her.

He sat on the floor beside the tub as she attempted to relax but couldn't seem to. The glass of wine he brought her was a nice gesture and it helped a little but she was still so wound up. Her eyes flicked over to Sherlock as he stood and began ridding himself of his clothes.

"What are you doing?" she laughed half-heartedly.

"I'm going to join you," he told her.

* * *

Molly relaxed into him, leaning back against his chest his arms locked around her and their fingers laced together. She turned her head to press soft kisses against his neck.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"Much better," Molly confirmed. Sherlock leaned down to capture her lips, whispering against them

"You know how much I love you, right?" he whispered.

"Of course I do," she smiled against his lips.

"Mm, good," Sherlock replied before snogging her once more.


	3. Of Bad Dreams and Honeybees

He decided to stay the night with her after their bath together. Sherlock was having a fitful sleep, his old fears coming back to haunt him. Molly's eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice. He was talking in his sleep.

"Molly," he spoke urgently. She became alert then. "Molly, please don't leave me. Don't…"

"Sherlock, wake up, love," Molly gently nudged his shoulder. His eyes snapped open and he looked visibly shaken.

"I thought I lost you," he told her, hugging her to him.

"It's okay, it was just a bad dream. I'm here, Sherlock," Molly comforted him. Her fingers played with his curls, brushing them back slowly. He relaxed into her touch with relief.

"You wouldn't leave me, right?" Sherlock asked.

"Never," she answered. "Why would I?"

"I can be an arse sometimes, that's why," he replied sadly. "I'm sorry."

"Sherlock, you have nothing to apologize for; you've done nothing wrong. And everyone can be an arse sometimes," Molly laughed. "I get moody and sometimes snap at you but I know you wouldn't leave me because of it."

"No, I wouldn't," Sherlock agreed.

"You are so good to me. I'm not perfect and neither are you; I'm not looking for perfection. I just want you, Sherlock; flaws and all. I love the good and the bad. Yes, sometimes I get scared you might get bored of me but I know deep down you won't," Molly told him.

"How do you know I won't?" he teased, smiling cheekily at her.

"Oh hush it, you," she giggled. "If you haven't gotten bored of me after knowing me for nearly ten years, I doubt you ever would."

"Correct; I could never get bored of you, Molly Hooper," Sherlock grinned.

When he woke up that morning, Molly had already left for work minutes earlier. He padded out into the kitchen after getting dressed and found a cup of fresh coffee on the counter with a sticky note beside it.

 _Black, two sugars just for you. Have a good day, love xx_

He smiled at the considerate gesture and took a sip. They were always doing little things like that for one another. This happened to be the moment that Sherlock realized how many times over the years they had been doing this even long before they were together. There were different ways of saying those three little words he once thought would destroy his whole world; Molly being that world. An idea sparked in his head.

* * *

"Free your suspect Lestrade," Sherlock told him

"Oliver's a free man then? What do you have?" Lestrade asked.

"The murderer was his brother; they had a falling out and the victim was a mutual friend of theirs which you already knew," he explained. "Ethan dosed his brother's drink with an amnesiac drug, murdered the friend they were at the pub with in the alley and framed him. Found his brother's address and the brick the man was hit over the head with multiple times. The DNA doesn't match Oliver's but Ethan's." Sherlock handed the DNA test results over.

"Case closed then. Nice work, Sherlock," Lestrade praised him. "But why was Oliver nude when we found him?"

"There are some mysteries in this world that even I cannot fathom," Sherlock replied with a chuckle.

* * *

"I put the cottage up for sale today; I'm secretly hoping no one will buy it but the cost is just too much for me," Molly said.

"Sorry, Molls," Meena replied. "I wish I could help; I know it means a lot to you."

"It did; it does. The thing is, it wasn't just my childhood home to me. I had plans for it in the future," Molly sighed.

"Plans? Like Sherlock plans?" Meena teased.

"Yeah, Sherlock plans," Molly laughed. "I mean, I know I was probably thinking too far ahead seeing as we're not even married or anything but I thought it would be perfect for when we both retire. He always talks about retiring in the countryside and his interest in beekeeping. There's this beautiful garden in the backyard my mum had started that would be perfect for it. She loved to grow all kinds of flowers. It's probably wilted completely by now. I just haven't had time to keep up with it."

"That sounds lovely," Meena smiled, looking at her watch. "Break's over. You can have the pack of Jaffa Cakes; I can't eat another bite."

"Thanks, Meena. I should probably get back to work too," Molly replied.

"Yes you should." The smirk in that baritone voice could be heard in his tone.

"Sherlock, you scared me," she told him.

"Talk to you later, Molly. Sherlock," Meena nodded in his direction before leaving the canteen. He had heard his beloved talk about her plans for the future…plans that involved him. It warmed his heart; the very one he once claimed to not even have.

"I need a thumb," Sherlock told her. "If it's not too much trouble."

"Looking for a specific thumb or…" Molly joked.

"Any thumb will do, Molly," he replied with a playful roll of his eyes.

* * *

He waited in the lab while she returned with the plastic baggie with the thumb on ice. It nearly slipped out of her hands when she went to hand it over.

"If I didn't know any better, Molly, I'd say you were all thumbs," Sherlock smirked.

"God, Sherlock, that was terrible," Molly cracked up. "And you say I make awful jokes."

"But it made you smile," he pointed out.

"It did," she agreed.

"Oh, before I leave, John needs us to watch Rosie tomorrow night," Sherlock told her. "He still finds me incompetent with her. How would he even know? He won't let me alone with her for more than five minutes."

"I'll run late for ten minutes just so you can prove him wrong," Molly told him.

"Good plan," Sherlock smiled as he left. This was something to look forward to. Molly loved spending time with Rosie and it's just the pick me up she needed.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Not sure how I feel about this chapter lol but it is what it is. Thank y'all so much for your kind reviews!


	4. Roadtrip

"Where is Molly?" John asked, pacing the sitting room of 221B.

"She'll be here in no less than five minutes; you can leave, Rosie and I will be fine on our own," Sherlock assured him. John only gave him a look of disbelief. "I can do this. Honestly John, you should have more faith in me."

"I know, I know," John replied. "Alright, but if something happens to go wrong before Molly gets here, call me."

"We will be fine," Sherlock insisted. After kissing his daughter's mass of curls, John left. Just as Molly promised, the day before, she arrived ten minutes later. The sight that greeted her was a most welcome one. Rosie lay beneath her activity gym and Sherlock had been lying next to her, prodding at the items hanging above them and making their goddaughter laugh. She snapped a quick photo before being noticed.

"Hey, you two," she smiled. Sherlock sat up quickly, knocking his head on the activity gym. Rosie was giggling uncontrollably.

"Oh, you find that funny don't you?" he asked her playfully.

"Uncle Sherlock's silly, isn't he, Rosie?" Molly laughed. She was shooting off a text to John to let him know she was there with the photographical proof that Sherlock was just fine with Rosie.

 _Arrived later than expected…traffic. Sherlock and Rosie had some bonding time it seems :p –MH_

Sherlock suddenly had lifted Molly in his arms, her feet rising off of the floor, and pressed a kiss to her forehead before setting her back down.

"What was that for? Too hard to just lean down?" Molly giggled.

"That was a thank you," Sherlock told her. "And yes, leaning down so far can be detrimental."

"You act like I'm only two feet tall," she playfully swatted at his arm. They sat on the floor beside Rosie, watching her kick her legs and grab onto the plushie that hung above her. "Thank you for what?"

"For everything," he answered, "but most recently, for sending proof to John that I am capable of watching Rosamund."

"You're welcome," Molly told him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

* * *

Eventually, Rosie fell asleep in Molly's arms after being fed. She and Sherlock sat together on the sofa, watching a re-run of Doctor Who on the telly.

"I had an idea," Sherlock told her. "Now, keep in mind, this is something I've been thinking about for a while."

"What'd you have in mind?" Molly asked, her eyes locking with his.

"I'd find it most preferable—no—I'd love if you would live here with me," Sherlock said, pressing a kiss into her hair. "That is, if you'd like to. I just thought, not only would we be taking a good step in our relationship but maybe you could keep your cottage."

"Sherlock, I'd love to move in with you," Molly smiled. "The thing about the cottage, though…someone's already bought it."

"Really? That was quick," he remarked.

"That's what I thought," she laughed, completely disheartened. "I mean, I'll be able to catch up on my flat payments now, which is good. I need to do that before I move in here. I'll miss it, but I'm sure it's in capable hands."

"Are you free on Saturday?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

"Yeah, got nothing planned. Why?" Molly questioned.

"I want to take you somewhere," he told her. "A weekend getaway, if you will."

"That sounds lovely," Molly replied. "I'd love that."

* * *

Saturday rolled around and Molly had packed a bag for the weekend, surprised not by the car outside of her flat, but the fact that Sherlock was actually driving.

"This is a rare sight," Molly laughed. "Must be a special occasion."

"It is; I promise," he assured her. The radio volume was high enough to hear the music but low enough that they could still talk, used as more of a background noise than anything.

"Any chance you'll tell me where we're going?" she asked.

"And ruin the surprise? Nope," Sherlock smirked, popping the 'p.'

"Thought not, but I had to try," Molly smiled. After forty five minutes of companionable silence, Molly began quietly singing along with the song on the radio. Sherlock smiled to himself. He loved it when she sang. His left hand quickly found its way to her right and held it as he continued to drive, rubbing soft circles on the back of it with his thumb.

Another twenty minutes in and Molly was reading off crime riddles from her phone to Sherlock. He solved them rather quickly but it kept them both entertained.

"A man was found dead in his study, slumped over at his desk with a gun in his hand. There was a cassette recorder on his desk and when the police played it, it said, "I can't go on. I have nothing to live for." Then there was the sound of a gunshot. How did the detective immediately know that the man had been murdered?" Molly asked. Sherlock made it a point to look like he was clueless and thinking hard about it.

"Hmm," he added.

"Come on, you drama queen, I know you know it," Molly teased.

"The suicide tape was rewound by the murderer," Sherlock answered. "Child's play."

"Alright, fine, but how about this one?" Molly asked. "A woman proves in court that her husband was murdered by her sister but the judge decided that the sister cannot be punished. Why?"

"Possibly an act of self-defense," he replied.

"Wrong, though that would have been my answer too," she told him.

"Wrong? What do they say the answer is?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Oh God, you're going to hate this," Molly laughed. "It says that the sisters are conjoined twins; the guilty one cannot be punished without punishing the innocent one."

"Preposterous," he remarked. "It's never twins."

"Told you that you'd hate it," Molly pointed out. "Too much of a sticky situation." Sherlock looked at her with a comical look of disapproval.

"Molly, that is by far THE worst joke you have ever made," he told her, attempting to keep a straight face but ended up giving in and chuckling at it anyways. She looked out her window, finally observing exactly where they were.

"Sherlock," she said, not quite knowing what else to say.

"Yes?" he questioned, drawing out the one syllable.

"We're in my hometown," Molly stated rather obviously.

"I know," Sherlock smiled at her. Nothing more was said until they pulled up to her cottage.

"Sherlock, we can't be here, it's not mine anymore," she said nervously as he helped her out of the car.

"Fortunately for us, the owner has given us permission to stay here for the weekend," Sherlock smirked.

"I don't—" Molly's words faltered as Sherlock procured the keys to the cottage from his pocket. "You bought it?" Her tone was filled with a happy disbelief.

"Mm, yep," he answered proudly.

"You did all this for me?" her eyes filled with tears.

"Of course," Sherlock replied. "For you; for us." Molly jumped up to throw her arms around his neck and he caught her in his own arms, holding her close.

"Thank you," she cried breathlessly, kissing his cheek. "I love you." Her lips found his and he happily returned her affections. She spoke again when they broke the kiss. "I can't believe you did this. God, it's too much, Sherlock."

"No it's not. It's never too much when it comes to you," he told her honestly. Sherlock scooped her up bridal style, Molly's hands still clasped around the back of his neck. He unlocked the door and stepped over the threshold with her in his arms. The cottage was exactly as she left it; the same furniture and décor that she grew up with. He set her down on the sofa and wiped her tears away with his thumbs and kissed her once more before going to get their bags.

* * *

When Sherlock returned, he found Molly by the fireplace, her fingers running over the river rock. She felt his arms wrap around her waist from behind and his head resting on her shoulder.

"You know, I used to sit on the rug here in front of the fire while my dad read stories to me," Molly told him nostalgically. "There was a point, when he became ill, that I would sit here and read stories to him to return the favor."

"I'm sorry you lost him," Sherlock told her, his breath warm against her neck.

"He would've liked you," she remarked, placing her hands over his where they lay against her tummy. Molly leaned into him and he supported her like he always did in more ways than one.

* * *

After dinner, they ventured out to the garden, or what was left of it, in the backyard. It was a bit grown over but not so much that it couldn't be easily remedied.

"It's not so bad," Sherlock stated. "Nothing that can't be fixed."

"It used to be so colourful. The yellow daisies were my favourite," Molly told him. "I'd help my mum plant and water the flowers." He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing each individual finger. Sherlock loved learning these little things about her; the important pieces of history that made her who she was. These were things he could have never deduced about her.

"You're thinking too loudly," he remarked. "What is it?" Molly turned to look at him, caressing his cheek with her free hand.

"I'm just overwhelmed in the best way," she replied, smiling up at him. "Thank you. I just—I don't even really know what else to say."

"I'm just glad you're happy," Sherlock told her. She stood on her toes to press a kiss to his mouth tenderly. I love you's were interspersed with every other brush of their lips.

"I hope you're not tired," Molly spoke softly.

"Mm, nope," he responded. "Why?"

"You'll see," she winked, walking ahead of him. Sherlock was more than willing to follow after her.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** GOODNESS I love this chapter...this situation is what initially inspired this entire fic! I hope y'all loved it!


	5. A Perfect Morning

Sherlock smiled against Molly's lips, threading his fingers through her hair. He could never get enough of the taste of her. Did she know how addicted he was to her affections? The image in his dream faded as he woke up to Molly sprinkling playful kisses over his neck and face. She finally reached his lips and hovered just so they were barely touching. Sherlock began to lift his head only wanting to snog her silly but she moved back quickly with a smirk on her face.

"Oh no you don't," Sherlock told her, reaching out to take hold of her waist as he remained lying down. He lifted her up in the air as if she weighed nothing, eliciting a squeal of surprise from her.

"Put me down, Sherlock," Molly laughed.

"Mm, okay," he replied, and rolled over to set her on her back on the bed and he hovered over her, finally capturing her lips with his. He tickled her sides as they continued to kiss but Molly couldn't stop laughing.

"I surrender," she gasped breathlessly.

"You shouldn't tease me so, Molly Hooper," Sherlock smirked, his fingers softly tracing the curve of her hips. She cupped his cheeks with both hands and pulled him down gently for a slow, tender kiss, their noses nuzzling against each other.

"Sherlock," she murmured, brushing her lips against his lightly.

"I love you too," he whispered, trailing his mouth alongside her jawline. Molly's stomach growled, interrupting the moment and he chuckled. "Breakfast?"

"Yes, please," she smiled.

* * *

Molly gave Sherlock the directions to her favourite diner within the village where they sat down for a lovely English breakfast.

"When should we head back to London?" Molly asked.

"Whenever is fine," Sherlock answered taking his last bite.

"How about late afternoon? So we can get back before evening," she suggested.

"Plans?" he joked.

"No," Molly laughed. "Well, not exactly."

"Molly," Sherlock said in a tone that indicated that he was prying for information.

"Hmm?" she said with mock innocence. He wielded his best sad puppy dog look, knowing he could always win with it. "Oi! That's not fair, Sherlock!" Molly covered her eyes, refusing to look at him but he took her hands in his and kissed the palm of each one. She bit her lips in an effort to fight his efforts but then his full lips danced over her fingertips and Molly was done for.

"I may have gotten you a case from Mycroft to work on when we get home and before you groan about it, I promise you it's a ten," Molly confessed all too quickly. His eyes locked onto hers with adoration. "I know there hasn't been anything exciting lately so I texted your brother with an inquiry."

"How lucky I am to have you," Sherlock told her, kissing the back of her right hand. "Thank you, Molly."

"You're very welcome," she smiled. "It'll take you out of town for a bit and I'll miss you but you need this. All I ask is you stay safe and make sure to come home to me."

"I will always come home to you," Sherlock promised her. "Always."


	6. Broken

**WARNING: GRAB A TISSUE OR 3...I CRIED WRITING THIS**

* * *

Sherlock had left for the case Molly had set up for him eight days ago. She had been working double shifts at the hospital due to a lot of the staff being out sick. Of course, Molly didn't mind; she loved her work and it kept her busy. Tonight, she was working overtime on her double shift just for an extra couple of hours to catch up on paperwork. Her phone pinged while she sorted through the mess of files on her desk.

 **Late night? SH**

 **Mhmm. Catching up on paperwork. How's the case going? MH**

 **It's going well, but we are not talking about the case. SH**

 **I'm worried about you. SH**

 **Why? I'm fine. MH**

 **No, Molly, you're not. Stamford has informed me that you've been working double shifts all week and when he offered you a couple of days off, you declined. Why? SH**

 **Believe it or not, Sherlock, I get bored too and I like working; it keeps me busy. MH**

 **I miss you. MH**

 **I miss you too, Molly, but you can't overwork yourself like this. SH**

 **Please, for me, and yes, for yourself, take the off days. You always tell me to take care of myself and I have been. You need to take care of yourself too. SH**

 **Okay. You're right. I'm sorry. I've just been a bit stressed lately and work took my mind off of it. MH**

 **We can talk about it now or when I get back in two days. SH**

 **I'd rather wait until I can have you here. MH**

 **Finish your paperwork, go home and get some much needed rest. I love you. SH**

 **I love you too. MH**

* * *

Molly spent her days off relaxing just as Sherlock advised her to. She hadn't realized just how exhausted she truly was until she wasn't working non-stop. Her back ached and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. The bath she had taken helped with the pain in her back and the extra sleep did wonders for her energy. Sherlock would be back tomorrow and she was thankful that he had talked some sense into her. Today, she would be watching Rosie for a few hours and John had just knocked on her door.

"Hello sweetheart," Molly smiled at her goddaughter when she opened the door.

"Thanks for watching her, Molls," John told her.

"Oh, it's no problem! We're going to have lots of fun! Isn't that right, Rosie?" she asked, taking her in her arms. Molly held Rosie's wrist and helped her wave 'bye bye'.

"B-bye!" Rosie exclaimed excitedly.

After Molly had fed her, they were playing together on the floor of her sitting room. Rosie was fascinated by the plastic trainset that she pushed around on the carpet. Neither had been aware of the man that entered the flat. He stepped quietly down the hall and peered around to see his goddaughter crawling onto Molly's lap.

"Hey, sweet girl," Molly smiled, pressing a doting kiss into the blonde curls. "You look so much like your mother." Rosie placed a hand on Molly's cheek tentatively.

"Mowwy," she said. "Kay, Mowwy?" This took both Sherlock and Molly by surprise. Rosie was asking if Molly was okay; smart and observant like her mother too, then.

"I'll be fine, sweetie," Molly responded. She felt his presence behind her and turned to see Sherlock kneeling on the floor beside her. "You're back early." A small smile played on her lips.

"I am. Are you okay?" Sherlock asked, his voice filled with concern.

"We'll talk later, I promise. Just wait until after John picks Rosie up later," she told him.

"Okay," he agreed, pressing a warm kiss to her lips.

* * *

When John came by to pick his daughter up, he found Rosie sleeping on Sherlock's chest with Molly tucked up beside them, also asleep. Sherlock's eyes were closed but his mind was racing. A quickly snapped photo was all it took for the consulting detective to acknowledge John's presence.

"Send that to me," he smirked.

"Not too much trouble then?" John asked, as he sent the photo to Sherlock's phone.

"Nope," Sherlock replied, his eyes opening.

"Mm," Molly stirred, waking up. "Oh, wow. How long was I out for?"

"About a half hour," Sherlock answered. She stood up and groggily padded her way into the kitchen. John gently took Rosie into his arms.

"Thanks for watching her, Molly," he told her. "And Sherlock. The case go well?"

"Amazingly so," Sherlock replied. The two friends chatted a bit longer and Molly poured the little bit of wine she had left into a glass. John left and she took a sip, afraid of the conversation that she needed to have with Sherlock. Her hands shook and the glass shattered to the floor as the front door was closed. Molly knelt down, tears already coming down, attempting to pick up the pieces of glass.

"I'm fine," she insisted when he approached her in a rush.

"No, you're not," Sherlock replied, kneeling next to her, urging her to just leave the glass there for now. "Molly, darling, please tell me what's wrong." She turned her face into the crook of his neck and cried. His heart ached for her, painfully so. He lifted her up into his arms and walked them back over the sofa. She held onto him for dear life, her cries becoming vocalized.

"Sh-Sherlock," Molly cried.

"Shhh, it's okay. You don't have to say anything right now," he told her, stroking her hair and holding her close. When Molly's tears subsided for the most part, she sat up and looked at him, his face full of worry.

"Sorry about that," she laughed half-heartedly.

"You don't need to apologise," Sherlock replied. He kissed her forehead and she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.

"I thought I was pregnant," Molly spoke suddenly, her voice trembling. Sherlock's gaze was attentive to her. "I wasn't, but" she sighed, "I got some other news." He waited patiently as she gathered her thoughts. "I may not be able to have children. My chances are slim to none." The tears spilled over once more.

"Molly," he breathed. "Oh, my Molly, come here." She curled into him, his arms wrapping around her.

"You still want me?" her muffled voice asked.

"Of course I do," Sherlock told her.

"But I'm broken," she cried.

"You are not broken," he assured her. "Molly, I love you so much. I'll always want you. And hey," he lifted her chin up to meet her eyes, "there's still a chance; a small chance, but it's a chance nonetheless."

"You really think so?" she asked.

"Yes, I really do. It's going to be okay, Molly, I promise," Sherlock spoke softly. Her lips found his, caressing them with all of her love. She filled her mind with other thoughts, like how this time next week, she'd be living at 221B. It made her heart swell with emotion. Molly was only a tiny bit hopeful, but it was what she needed and Sherlock gave that hope to her. She loved him more than anything and hoped to show him as much as she unbuttoned his shirt. It was going to be a lovely night.


	7. Game Night

She was completely moved in to 221B now. After her shift tonight, she'd be going to Baker Street. _Home_. The thought made her smile. This was a new, exciting aspect of their relationship. Molly already loved waking up to him but now she'd get to do it every morning. This included the nights he would stay awake because he simply loves to hold her as she sleeps. A smile formed on her lips when she snapped her gloves on in preparation for an autopsy.

* * *

Sherlock was also excited about this new aspect of living together. He wondered what other adorable quirks of hers he would learn about. He couldn't wait to see Molly; more specifically, her reaction to what he had planned for them. She would be home quite soon and he had taught himself how to make one of her favourite dishes for dinner. Cooking was quite similar to chemistry is what he had told himself. It wasn't too difficult; he just hoped it was to her liking. The sound of the doorknob turning alerted him to her presence.

"You're home," Sherlock said enthusiastically.

"Yes, I am," Molly smiled. He bent his head down to capture her lips, unknowingly driving her back against the door until the thud alerted him. "What was that for?"

"Can't I snog you without an ulterior motive?" Sherlock asked, feigning a hurtful look that made Molly laugh. "Well now that you've had a laugh, I hope you're hungry."

"Don't tell me you had Mrs. Hudson cook again," she told him.

"Nope," he replied, "I did."

"You? You…cooked?" Molly asked.

"I did, though I'm not sure how well it turned out," he admitted, "so don't be afraid to say it's awful if it actually is."

"Thank you, Sherlock, really," she said with a smile. "And don't be so hard on yourself; it was your first time."

They sat down to eat the chicken tikka masala he made. Sherlock didn't quite like how it turned out but kept eating, unable to figure out if Molly liked it or not.

"Be honest, Molly, please," Sherlock told her.

"Well, it's not bad," she replied.

"But it's not good," he finished.

"I never said that," Molly pointed out.

"Just admit it, Molly," Sherlock sighed.

"Okay, fine, it's not the best, but it's okay. Not the worst I've had but you tried and that's all that matters," Molly told him, taking a hold of his hand.

"It's terrible," he chuckled. "Pizza?"

"Oh God, yes," Molly laughed.

* * *

When the pizza arrived, they had both changed into their pajamas and were arguing about what game to play, amusing the delivery guy immensely.

"Oh no, I am not playing Uno with you again; not after you made me draw four," Molly told him.

"Well, Cluedo is out of the question because you are the only one that can beat me at it…every single time," Sherlock countered, handing the money to the delivery man. Molly was given the pizza box and they were still at it after closing the door.

"Can't play Trivial Pursuit because I have the advantage with the pop culture, sports, art and literature," Molly complained.

"I know the science questions though," Sherlock argued. Molly snorted with a playful roll of her eyes.

"Operation?" she asked.

"Operation," he agreed.

They sat on the floor at each side of the coffee table and ate pizza as they played. The first round went well but now they were trying to get each other to mess up for fun. It started when Sherlock stretched his legs beneath the table and poked her side lightly with his toe.

"What the hell, Sherlock? That's not fair," Molly had complained when the buzzer went off. He laughed at her and she reached behind her to snag a throw pillow off the sofa and throw it at him.

"Alright, I'm s-sorry," he continued laughing. "You can distract me this time." And she did by tickling his foot; the only place he was ticklish. The buzzer rang loud and clear. And so it continued like that with Sherlock tossing the pillow back at her and Molly running her toes up his leg as far as she could reach which made him shiver.

Eventually, Sherlock had moved to sit beside her, which was distracting in itself. So, of course he found it perfectly appropriate to nip playfully at her ear while she tried to concentrate but simply couldn't. Molly dropped it and crawled into his lap facing him.

"Now that was really unfair," she told him.

"Was it? I thought you liked receiving affection," Sherlock smirked. "I don't have to anymore. I understand." He was clearly joking, though he tried to be serious.

"Don't stop on my account," Molly replied. "I really like it." She nuzzled her nose against his.

"Mm, do you like this?" he asked before placing open-mouth kisses down the side of her neck. She tilted her head to the side to give him better access. The suction feeling she suddenly felt told her she would need to cover up a love bite in the morning but it felt so nice. "It seems you do like it quite a bit."

"You know I do," Molly smiled at him. "Just how I know you like this." Her lips were on his mouth, her tongue slipping through the seam to caress his before taking his bottom lip between her teeth gently.

"Mm, Molly," he murmured as they snogged once more. Sherlock broke the kiss to trail his lips over her shoulder, sending shivers through her. He moved to her clavicle and to her throat, feeling her pulse point beneath his lips. Her gasps made him smirk against her skin. He kissed her again and again, Molly's fingers tangling in his curls and it was her turn to smirk as he moaned softly. They broke away once the need for oxygen became apparent, their foreheads leaning together. The spell was broken when Molly yawned.

"Bedtime for the human," Sherlock joked.

"Sherlock Holmes, don't try acting like you're not human as well," Molly laughed.

"Tried to once, but it got me nowhere," he replied. "Turns out, emotions aren't so bad after all." A pause, then, "I am sorry it took me so long."

"S'fine," she mumbled. "Better late than never."

"Thank you for never giving up on me, Molly. You never stopped loving me, and for that, I am grateful," Sherlock told her.

"I'll always love you no matter what," Molly whispered in his ear, her arms locked around his neck as he stood to carry her to their bedroom. "And I know it won't always be like it was tonight; we'll have rows every now and then and we'll probably annoy the hell out of each other sometimes but the one thing I'm sure of is that we'll continue to love each other through all of it."

"That's a good thing to be sure of," Sherlock agreed, laying her down on the bed, "because I will always love you too." He slipped in beside her, curling his lanky form around her petite one. To her delight, Sherlock had his lips pressed to the back of her neck, kissing her softly. Needless to say, it didn't take long for her to doze off in his arms.


	8. An Unexpected Visit

**Author's Note: This chapter is what I like to call a fluffernutter, which in case y'all don't know, is a sandwich made with marshmallow fluff and peanut butter. I usually use chunky peanut butter.**

 **There's the fluffy marshmallow bits and then there's the tiny bit of angst which is the chunky peanut butter lol**

* * *

Mrs. Hudson was quite delighted to see Arthur and Lydia Holmes and led them up the stairs to 221B.

"It's a bit nicer now that he's had Molly move in," Mrs. Hudson told them.

"I cannot tell you how positively pleased I am that he's finally seen what was right in front of him, Martha. Arthur and I were in agreeance when we got to meet her a few months ago," Lydia said.

"That's right, dear," Arthur replied.

"He saw but did not observe," the Holmes parents spoke in unison, laughing along with Mrs. Hudson. The scene they saw once they peered around the kitchen amused them greatly.

"It looks burnt," Molly laughed.

"It's not burnt," Sherlock frowned. "It's slightly toasted."

"Slightly? Sherlock, marshmallows are not supposed to be this crispy when you make s'mores," Molly told him, unable to hold back her laughter.

"Well, that's what happens when we make Bunsen burner s'mores," he replied. Molly snorted during her giggle fit when Sherlock made a face after biting into his burnt marshmallow s'more.

"Sh-Sherlock," she giggled, "your face!"

"Okay, it's burnt," Sherlock admitted with a sigh.

"Here, take a bite of mine," Molly offered, holding out her half eaten s'more to him.

"Not in front of my parents, Molly," Sherlock replied.

"Oh, hello!" she exclaimed, joining Sherlock just outside of kitchen.

"Hello, my dear," Mr. Holmes greeted her with a hug.

"I hope you're treating her well, Sherlock," Mrs. Holmes told him as he reluctantly returned her hug.

"I am, mummy, promise," he replied, unable to fight the smile on his face.

"That's my sweet boy," she remarked.

"S'more?" Molly asked them.

"Oh, no thank you dear, we just had lunch," Mrs. Holmes answered.

"Want one, Mrs. Hudson?" Molly offered.

"I believe I'll indulge myself," she replied, taking the offered s'more. "Thank you, Molly. You lot have fun." Mrs. Hudson made her way down to her flat.

"How long have you two had this arrangement?" Mr. Holmes inquired.

"It's only been a couple of weeks, actually," Molly answered.

"Goodness, how things have changed. You know, Sherlock, your father and I were married before living together," Mrs. Holmes informed him. "Though, I see the appeal of living together beforehand to learn the good and bad habits of the person you are planning a future with. It wasn't too long before I was pregnant with your brother. What a wondrous day that was; you were a bit of a surprise though." It was no secret that Lydia Holmes had a gob. It was something that usually annoyed Sherlock but having Molly with him made it a bit more enjoyable.

"Yes, yes, I've heard it all before…I believe, at least, a hundred and seventy six times," Sherlock smirked cheekily.

"Oh, I know, I was just repeating myself for Molly," Mrs. Holmes smiled, patting her hand. She gently guided Molly to the sofa with Sherlock and his father following after. "Now, tell me dear, is there hope for grandchildren in the future?" Molly's face was white as a corpse, her mind shutting down and her emotions taking over. Sherlock watched it all happen in the blink of an eye and knew she was going to run off to their bedroom. She did just as he predicted, shutting the door firmly behind her before he could catch her.

"I told you that you'd scare her with that talk, Lydia," Mr. Holmes commented.

"Molly may not be able to have children," Sherlock informed them.

"I didn't mean any harm by it, I just—" Mrs. Holmes faltered.

"Mummy, it's alright, you didn't know," Sherlock told her. "I'm going to go talk to her. There's a fresh kettle in the kitchen."

* * *

Sherlock opened the door and slipped inside, shutting it behind him, startling Molly.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I will be," she sighed. Tears still stained her cheeks but they were no longer falling. He sat beside her on the bed, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I didn't mean to run off like that; I feel awful."

"Shh, it's okay," Sherlock comforted her with a kiss to her temple. "We'll get through this. You are not alone, my Molly; you have me. We have each other." She nodded in agreeance before slipping out of his grip and standing up. He followed after and laced their fingers together as they left the room.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Holmes muttered when she saw them appear. Molly resumed her seat on the on the sofa and accepted the hug Lydia offered. "I am so sorry, Molly."

"It's fine, really," she replied.

"It will happen when the time is right. Don't you worry about a thing," Lydia smiled.

"Thank you," Molly told her.

"We hate to cut this short," Mr. Holmes started, "but Mycroft is expecting our visit soon. You know how punctual he is."

"Oh, yes, how could I forget," Mrs. Holmes huffed in mock annoyance. Molly now knew where Sherlock got his attitude from and couldn't help but stifle a laugh.

"Oh, if you're going to see Mycroft, could you bring these to him?" Molly asked, handing over a small, covered platter of fairy cakes. "Sherlock told me it was his favourite and I wanted to do something nice for him."

"Of course, my dear, we'll be sure to give him these," Mr. Holmes assured her. And then they were out the door, one of Mycroft's cars waiting below. Sherlock disappeared and came back with a game.

"Want to play?" he asked.

"You always win that one," Molly complained playfully.

"Exactly; that's why I like it," Sherlock smirked.

"Oh, get over yourself, it's just connect four," she laughed.

"So is that a yes?" he questioned.

"Alright, fine," Molly agreed. "The game is on, Mister Holmes, and I believe I'll come out victorious."

"That's my girl," Sherlock smiled brightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.


	9. Fighting for Love

Contrary to popular belief, they hardly ever fought during the eight months of their relationship. When they did have a row, they made up quite quickly. That was why Molly was worried tonight. It was three in the morning and he hadn't come home since their fight earlier that evening. She had gone out to look for him after a couple of hours until it started pouring down rain. So, she waited for him since she couldn't sleep for even a minute. Her tears stained the pillow as her mind replayed the words they had exchanged.

 _"Sherlock, why do you still have this?" Molly asked, holding up the small box that held a needle._

 _"Molly, I swear I haven't used it since the Culverton case," Sherlock told her._

 _"I'm not daft; I know you haven't but that doesn't explain why this wasn't thrown out," she said, her voice shaking. "Do you plan on using in the future if, God forbid, something goes wrong?"_

 _"No, Molly, I don't. I meant to throw it out," he explained, shifting his eyes._

 _"Sherlock, I know you're hiding something from me," Molly insisted. "You considered using this at least once after the Culverton case, am I right?"_

 _"Yes, fine!" Sherlock snapped. He didn't mean to sound so harsh but it came out that way. "I found it the same night that the phone call happened. I had gone back to Baker Street to find it and pocketed it before going to see you because I thought that I would lose you."_

 _"And that made it okay?" Molly scolded._

 _"No, it wasn't okay, but at the time all I could think about was that I'd never be able to cope if I had lost you; if you had turned me away and never wanted to see me again," Sherlock informed her. And just like that, a text alert went off. Irene's text alert._

 _"As if this night could get worse," Molly laughed in disbelief. "How can this relationship work if I can't even trust you!?" Sherlock looked as if she had just slapped him. Molly regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. He turned to leave the flat, but instead of slamming the door as she expected, Sherlock closed it quietly which seemed much worse in comparison._

Her hair was still damp from being out in the downpour during her search for him a few hours earlier. Molly heard the sound of the door shutting and her beloved's footsteps into the sitting room. She laid there, only listening, debating on whether to give him space or to comfort him. Deciding on the latter, Molly slowly crept out of their bedroom and down the short hallway. She peered into the sitting room where Sherlock sat on the floor in front of the warm fire, his back turned at her.

If he noticed her approaching, he didn't show it. Molly kneeled on the floor next to him and wrapped her arms around him, reaching up to press a kiss to the side of his neck tenderly.

"I'm so sorry," she cried softly. He said nothing but lifted her onto his lap, facing him.

"I'm sorry too," he replied, his tone gentle. "I never text her back, Molly. In fact, the alert noise has been erased. Also, when we first engaged in this relationship, I told her as such."

"I didn't mean what I said," Molly replied. "I do trust you, Sherlock, honestly I do."

"I know. You were hurt and afraid for me; I can't blame you for that," Sherlock told her. "You do know I love you, right? I don't want to be with anyone else."

"I know, I know," Molly smiled. "And I love you too, more than anything." Sherlock kissed her forehead and eyelids.

"Shall we get some sleep?" he asked. She nodded and they both stood to head toward their bedroom. "Hold on a minute." He walked over to the coffee table where the object of their argument had been set upon. Sherlock picked it up and tossed it in the waste bin. "I won't be needing that ever again." Molly gave a small smile before they slipped into the room, lulled asleep by the sound of each other's heartbeats.

* * *

"Molly, do you see the laceration there?" Sherlock asked, pointing at the victim's ear.

"Hm, yeah, I noticed that earlier; what of it?" she questioned.

"Not sure yet. It's a rather strange place to cut someone," he mused.

"Hello, freak," Sally Donovan sneered with Greg in tow.

"Donovan," Sherlock groaned with an eye roll. Molly fought the urge to throw Sally out of the morgue.

"Good thing that psycho sister of yours is locked up, otherwise we'd have a higher body count here. I knew there was something wrong with you," Sally continued.

"That's enough!" Sherlock shouted.

"Don't talk to him like that! Who do you think you are?" Molly scolded her. "Greg, get her the hell out of my morgue." Lestrade did as he was told, planning on having a word with Sally later on about her attitude on the job. Once the autopsy had been finished, Sherlock was following Lestrade out when Molly caught his hand. He turned to look at her, surprised by the sudden action.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he replied, but Molly could see in his eyes that he wasn't.

* * *

When Molly arrived home, he's wasn't there; most likely still out on the case. After a warm shower and putting on a fresh pair of pajamas, Molly turned on her small radio and began to take ingredients out. She was baking ginger nuts for Sherlock, hoping it would be an upside to his awful day. It would be a cold day in hell before Molly would allow Sally back into the morgue or less than ten feet away from him.

Sherlock entered 221B, the flat filled with music and the scent of freshly baked ginger nuts. He smiled at the sight of her dancing around the kitchen and singing along in her polka dot pajamas. This was a quirk of hers he absolutely adored. She did it every time she baked sweet confections. Molly noticed him approach the kitchen and she danced towards him playfully, continuing to sing. Her voice lowered and went quiet when she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and stood on her toes to kiss him.

Her lips lowered to his ear as she sang the lyrics, _how would you feel, if I told you I loved you_? They began to sway together when Sherlock took her hand in his, the other placed at her hip. He leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closing as he breathed in her scent of vanilla and honeysuckle. Molly's right hand caressed his face, her thumb tracing along his cheekbone. He softly kissed the tip of her nose and a low chuckle escaped from him as she scrunched it up at his touch.

"How did I get so lucky?" he asked in a whisper. "To have your love is the most precious gift I have ever received." His eyes held so much emotion. "Thank you for loving me, Molly." She closed the gap between them in response. When his full lips covered her own smaller ones, Sherlock lifted her up, causing Molly to wrap her legs around him. He trailed kisses along her jawline, down the column of her neck and stopped just below her ear.

"Sherlock," she sighed with pleasure. "Not that I'm not enjoying this but are you sure everything is alright?"

"Positive," he told her, kissing the soft skin beneath her ear. "Molly Hooper." Sherlock said her name like it only contained the best letters of the alphabet. "You are the love of my life." He nibbled playfully on her ear, eliciting a laugh from her lips. "Marry me."

"What?" Molly asked breathlessly, lowering her feet to the ground. Sherlock immediately went down on both knees and revealed a lovely white gold band with a pear cut diamond set in the center. It was a dainty ring that would accentuate her small hand perfectly.

"Molly, I would love nothing more than to be yours for the rest of our lives. I want to wake up next to you every morning and hold you in my arms every night. Just as a covalent bond requires the sharing of electrons, our romantic bond requires the sharing of our hearts. My darling, will you grow old with me and possibly take my last name?" Sherlock was surprised when she knelt on her knees in front of him, joining him on the floor.

"Yes, my love," Molly cried happily, snogging him with her hands on either side of his face. She pulled back so he could slip the perfectly fitted ring on her finger. "Only you would use covalent bonds in a proposal." They were laughing now, relishing in the moment. They stood together and Sherlock lifted her up to spin her around, giggles tumbling out of Molly's mouth.

"I can't wait to marry you," he told her.

"A bit eager to change my name to Molly Holmes?" she teased. To hear it said aloud sent his heart racing.

"It has a nice ring to it," Sherlock smirked.

"Indeed it does, my future husband," Molly replied.

"Sooo, can I have a ginger nut now?" he asked.

"Yes," she laughed, as they went to celebrate their engagement by sharing the freshly made biscuits.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Probably an unpopular opinion, but I never liked Sally Donovan and I've always wanted Molly or somebody to call her out for bullying Sherlock. Anywho, lots of feels in this chapter.


	10. To Grow a Garden

**the chapter title has a double meaning...can you guess it?**

* * *

Molly breathed in the fresh summer air as she continued to plant her favourite yellow daisies, among a myriad of other flowers. She had spent the weekend fixing up the backyard garden at the cottage. Sherlock and John had been out of the city on a case for a couple of days and she had Rosie with her, playing in the grass. The two crime solvers were due to arrive at the cottage shortly.

"Pwetty fwowers," Rosie cooed as she looked at the empty pack of seeds.

"Very pretty like you. Come on, wanna surprise Uncle Sherlock when he gets here?" Molly asked. Rosie reached her arms up excitedly and Molly lifted her up, heading for the small shed. She kept a tight grip on her goddaughter when she entered the shed and approached the old work table. There, sitting atop of it was the old langstroth beehive her father used for his own beekeeping. It was still painted a lovely shade of yellow. It had glass windows for observational purposes. It was perfect for Sherlock.

"Supwize?" Rosie asked, pointing at the hive.

"Surprise? I don't remember anything about surprises, do you, John?" Sherlock's rich baritone suddenly filled the shed.

"Well, it's not so much of a surprise anymore now is it?" Molly laughed.

"Daddy!" Rosie exclaimed, reaching out to him. John walked over and lifted his daughter out of her godmother's arms.

"We'll just be outside," John told them.

"I missed you," Sherlock told her with a kiss on her cheek.

"I missed you too," she replied. "I planted some daisies today! Next on the list is buttercups, roses and English ivy. Those are good for bees, plus it'll look so beautiful!"

"Is that what the observation hive is for?" he asked.

"Mhmm, I was gonna surprise you with it. I can't believe it's still in great condition after all these years," Molly told him.

"Years? Molly, this looks practically brand new," Sherlock remarked.

"My dad used to keep bees when I was little and he let me paint it yellow," she explained. "He taught me what he knew."

"You're still little," he teased, comparing their heights.

"You know what I mean, smart arse," Molly laughed, lightly pushing his shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his torso, bringing herself flush against him in a loving embrace. His arms circled her waist tightly. "Do you like it?"

"I love it, Molly, thank you," he smiled down at her.

* * *

Two weeks later, Molly awoke to an empty bed when her alarm went off. She got ready for work and traveled to the kitchen to find that Sherlock had left a fresh brew of coffee for her before leaving. A note lay on the counter beside the coffee machine in his scrawl.

 _On a case with Lestrade. Will be back later this evening. Have a good day at work. Love you. –SH_

Molly took some time to enjoy her coffee when the calendar caught her eye. It was the sixteenth. _No, that can't be right,_ she thought. Setting her mug down, she ran to the bathroom. She didn't want to get her hopes up but she was still a bit excited at the prospect. It was the longest five minutes of her life. Her nerves were on edge. When time was up, Molly wished she had someone look at the test for her or at least have Sherlock hold her while she cried if it was negative.

With a deep breath, she lifted the test and looked down at it. Her breath caught in her throat as the two little pink lines appeared. She was pregnant; at least according to the home test. This happened the last time she suspected it only to find out there was a slim chance of ever having a baby. To be sure, she needed to get a blood test done. Good thing she had a friend who was a doctor.

* * *

On her lunch break, Molly went to her appointment with John at the surgery.

"Thanks for taking me in on such short notice," she told him.

"Not a problem," he replied. "It's been a slow day anyways. Have you told Sherlock what the home pregnancy test said?"

"No, he's with Greg right now, plus I just want to be completely sure. I mean, I know I'm two weeks late, but I'm afraid to have hope. With my luck, it's probably menopause hitting me early," Molly laughed half-heartedly. Her eyes welled up with tears quite suddenly.

"Well, there's definitely a hormone imbalance," John chuckled.

"Quit making fun of me," she snapped. Her face softened then. "Sorry."

"Ah, it's fine," he told her. "It'll be a day or two before the results come in. Until then, take care of yourself as if you were pregnant, though I'm quite certain you are."

"Thanks, John," Molly sniffled. "Really, thank you."


	11. A Little Honeybee

It was all too sudden when the nausea hit her just as she began the autopsy. She had already felt a bit off when she first woke up but shrugged it off.

"Ah, Molly, already started on Mr. Williams, perfect," Sherlock greeted. He watched her face lose her natural rosy color before she ran out of the morgue, leaving Sherlock with nothing but concern etched on his face. Molly never got queasy around the dead; her stomach was quite strong.

Her breathing was heavy as she rested against the wall of the bathroom stall when her mobile started ringing. She looked down and saw John's name come up.

"Hello?" she muttered.

"Molly? Hey, are you alright?" John asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine aside from the bout of nausea," Molly replied.

"Well, it makes sense because your test results came back positive," he informed her. There was silence on her end, unable to convey the sheer happiness she felt, though the morning sickness had her feeling quite horrific. "Molly? Did you hear me? You're pregnant, just as I suspected. Congratulations!"

Wha—yeah, I heard you, I'm just—God, I'm so happy right now. Thank you. I gotta tell Sherlock," she rambled on excitedly. She popped a couple of mints in her mouth before heading back.

* * *

Sherlock was pacing the morgue, completely uninterested in the cadaver before him as his worrying about Molly was at the forefront of his mind. He looked up immediately when she rushed over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Molly, are you alright? What happ—mmph!" he asked before she was suddenly snogging him.

"Mhmm," she murmured as her lips pressed against his fervently. "I'm perfectly fine." Their breathing was heavy when they parted, their foreheads leaning against each other.

"But you became nauseated; that's unlike you," Sherlock pointed out.

"That's because I have morning sickness," she told him.

"Morning sickness? You—oh," he realized. "Molly." Her name came out in a whisper as he sunk down to his knees and rested his head against her tummy. Her fingers wound themselves in his curls, gently twisting them.

"We're gonna have a baby," her voice broke with a sob of happiness. "I'm gonna have to get my wedding dress tailored." She laughed then and he laughed with her. The warmth filled her heart when he began pressing soft kisses to her abdomen. He rose up slowly and captured her lips with his.

"How far along are you?" Sherlock asked.

"A little over six weeks," Molly answered.

"We're going to be parents," he marveled with a smile.

"You'll be an amazing father," she told him, caressing his cheek.

"I hope so," Sherlock remarked. "But I do know for a fact that you'll be a wonderful mother."

"Hey, you two, any progress on Mr. Williams?" Greg asked, strolling into the morgue.

"Uh, I should probably get back to that," Molly admitted. "Sorry, I barely started before I got sick."

"Sick? You okay enough to be working?" Lestrade questioned.

"Morning sickness," Sherlock stated, unable to keep his eyes off of Molly as she resumed the autopsy.

"Well, congratulations, you two!" Greg exclaimed. Then reality set in. "Oh, God, there's gonna be another Holmes."

"I know, isn't it wonderful?" Molly beamed. Sherlock chuckled at the mixed reactions.

* * *

Two months in and Sherlock was already driving her nuts with his overprotection. He wouldn't take cases that he couldn't solve from within the flat and he insisted she go ahead with her maternity leave. Of course, it was sweet that he worried so much but Molly felt the need to go over his head.

"Mycroft, there's gotta be something, anything," Molly pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Miss Hooper, but there isn't a thing available. Though, if I may add, I do not have an understanding of this particular predicament but Sherlock loves you and only wants what's best. I would suggest talking to him," Mycroft told her.

"I know, you're right," she sighed. "And Mycroft? You can call me Molly. I'm going to be your sister-in-law in a couple of months; I think it's time," Molly laughed.

"Quite right, Miss—Molly," he replied. "Give my brother my—" he faltered.

"Love? It's not a bad word, Mycroft," she told him. "I will."

"Thank you," he replied.

Stepping out of their bedroom, Molly realized Sherlock wasn't in his chair anymore.

"Sherlock?" she called out.

"He's upstairs, dear," Mrs. Hudson piped up from the kitchen. "Said something about a project he's been working on." Molly nodded and padded her way up the stairs to John's old bedroom. She cracked open the door and saw Sherlock sitting on the floor, his back turned and hunched over something.

"Sherlock, are you alright? I—" Molly stopped talking as she looked around the room. It was re-painted a cheery yellow (her favourite) and he was working on the crib they had bought. Some of the congratulatory gifts from friends and family still sat in the far left corner of the room.

"Just fine, though you weren't supposed to see this until it was finished," Sherlock admitted. He stood then and opened his arms as if showing off the room. "What do you think?"

"Sherlock, this is—goodness, it's beautiful," her eyes welled up with tears as she stepped further into the room. "Stupid hormones."

"They're not stupid; it's completely natural," he told her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. His hands settled against her growing tummy, cradling it gently. They stood there like that in companionable silence, enjoying the reality that this really was happening. This miracle growing inside her was their child; the beginning of their family.

* * *

Later that night, Sherlock was in his mind palace as she slept beside him in bed. He was like that for hours, unmoving. That is until Molly woke up close to three in the morning with a craving. They happened so rapidly and were always so different that he had a hard time deducing what her next one would be.

"Molly, what do you need?" he asked softly.

"Mint chocolate chip ice cream," she told him.

"I'll be right back," Sherlock said with a kiss to her forehead.

When he returned, they both sat in bed enjoying the ice cream together, as Molly told him to get his own spoon so they could share. It was the little things like this that they enjoyed the most; their playful conversations interspersed with cold ice cream kisses. They loved each other and they loved their little bundle of joy and that's all that really mattered.


	12. A New Chapter

**Author's Note:** thank y'all so very much for your reviews! If you head over to my ao3, under the same username, you'll find visuals for this chapter as well as a piece of fan art that a friend of mine drew for me.

* * *

In just two days, she would be Molly Holmes. Her excitement bubbled up inside as the cold gel hit her belly. Sherlock held her hand, fingers interlaced, as they watched the ultrasound screen. They were about to find out the gender of their baby. She could feel his lips pressing a kiss in her hair while they listened to the doctor. Molly remembered the shock she felt when Sherlock deduced they were having a girl.

"It's the way you're carrying," he had explained, but Molly had reasoned that that's not always the case.

"Congratulations, you're having a girl," the doctor told them with a smile.

"Told you," Sherlock teased.

"Cheeky bugger," Molly laughed. "I love you."

"I love you too," he told her, squeezing her hand affectionately.

* * *

The backyard of the Holmes parents' house was decorated beautifully. Molly was so surprised to hear that Mycroft had had a hand in helping his mother with the wedding décor. It was simple and lovely. Linda Holmes had argued that they needed fairy lights strung above the table and between the trees. Mycroft suggested small white chandeliers for a more elegant touch. Fairy lights were childish to him. So, Molly told them to compromise and do both in moderation. It payed off in the end, as it was completely gorgeous.

"I don't know why I'm so nervous," Molly laughed as she awaited her cue. Sherlock's father had offered to walk her down the aisle, as her own father had passed long ago.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Mr. Holmes asked her.

"Sure," she answered.

"I was nervous awaiting Linda's procession down the aisle. I assure you that Sherlock is too, but once your eyes meet, it'll be a shock to your system. It leaves you wondering why you ever felt nervous in the first place," he told her. "Don't worry about a thing, my dear."

"Thank you," Molly told him before the music began. Sherlock had recorded his own violin composition depicting his love for her as the music she would walk down the makeshift aisle to.

He was nervous to say the least, watching as John and Meena proceeded as best man and maid of honour, respectively. Then little Rosie practically skipped excitedly as flower girl in her pale yellow dress. Molly had even made her a flower crown of daisies to wear on her head of blonde curls. Sherlock's eyes locked on Molly's as his father walked her down the aisle.

His thoughts were a jumbled mess of sentiment, making his heart beat faster. _Breathtaking. My beautiful Molly._ He forgot why he was nervous as she slowly approached him. She wore a lacy, white, three quarter sleeve dress with a beautiful satin ribbon wrapped just under her breasts; the swell of her belly beautifully hugged by the soft material. The sweetheart neckline with a scalloped edge modestly complemented her décolletage. Her hair was worn half up, half down and loosely curled, spilling over her shoulders. She was glowing.

"You look beautiful," he told her softly when he took her hands in his. With the wedding being so small, everyone heard Sherlock's declaration and smiled with awe. It wasn't long before the exchanging of vows began. They had both written their own, as it felt too impersonal to just say the traditional ones.

"Sherlock, I am so proud of you for allowing love into your heart. You are my best friend and the love of my life. I promise to always love you; to always cherish you. I will be there when things get tough. There isn't a thing I wouldn't do for you. I have been privileged to watch you grow and with each passing year, I fall in love with you all over again. I am no longer scared of my future because I know I have you. You make me feel fearless. It is not the absence of fear, but moving forward despite it. I trust you with my life and with my heart; the very heart you stole when you first swept into my life. It happened at, of all places, a morgue. As we step into this new adventure together, I am ready to grow with you and our bundle of joy."

"Molly Hooper. I have always liked the way your name rolled off of my tongue, but now I realize I prefer to call you Molly Holmes as you are becoming my wife. You have stolen my heart without my immediate knowledge, though it occurred to me that you cannot steal something that has been given to you. I once found myself unworthy of the unconditional love you hold for me, but you have taught me otherwise and shown me that, somehow, I do deserve you. You have made me a better person; our love for one another has been reflecting in the way I live my life. I have to catch my breath to believe this is real, that I am marrying my true love, my heart's desire and my best friend. I am ready to proceed on this new journey with you."

There wasn't a dry eye to be seen. Even Mycroft 'Caring is not an Advantage' Holmes managed a few silent tears.

"Do you, Margaret Elizabeth Hooper, take thee, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, as your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," she spoke softly, sliding the ring into place on his finger.

"And do you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, take thee, Margaret Elizabeth Hooper, as your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," he answered, unable to keep his eyes off of her, sliding the white gold band in place.

Sherlock didn't even wait to be told to kiss her, eliciting a laugh from their friends and family. Molly could hardly catch her breath as his lips pressed to hers fervently.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," he replied happily.

* * *

Molly's flats glided easily across the grass as Sherlock spun her around and pulled her back in. He remembered wanting to dance with her at John and Mary's wedding and the pain he felt; the loneliness that ate at away at his heart. This was even better. He was dancing with Molly, his wife who was beautifully carrying their unborn daughter.

* * *

Though most baby showers were usually just women, Molly's had their male friends attend as well. Sherlock and John had yet to arrive as they had been with Greg on a case. That left Molly with Mrs. Hudson, Meena, Mycroft and the Holmes parents. She wore an adorable maternity dress, printed with cherries and a pair of red flats to match. Her hair was thrown into a messy bun, as that was all she had the patience for at eight months pregnant.

Molly stood with a platter of ginger nuts she baked, taking a bite out of one.

"Sister mine, you should sit down and try to relax," Mycroft said, guiding her to Sherlock's chair.

"I know, I'm just worried about him," Molly explained with a sigh.

"I assure you that my brother's claims of being indestructible are close to the truth. Chasing down a serial killer will not disprove that," he assured her.

"Don't you worry, Molly, dear," Mrs. Holmes told her. "If someone hurts my boy, I shall make sure they experience double the pain they make us endure."

"Nobody would dare to call upon your wrath," Mr. Holmes chuckled. Molly was giggling at the display.

"I told you, Sherlock, duck and run, not 'let's go straight for the murderer and hope we don't get shot'," John complained as he entered the flat with Greg and the consulting detective, himself.

"He had no bullets left, John, I know how many a pistol of that kind contains and he had already used them all up," Sherlock explained. "Simple observation." Mrs. Hudson was amused by the familiar banter, Rosie sitting upon her lap.

"Hey there, Molls, enjoying a biscuit or two?" Greg asked, ignoring the bickering friends.

"Mhmm," she answered. "Or maybe five." Her voice broke Sherlock out of his argument. She looked adorable sitting in his chair, clad in a cherry dress that was practically made for her and balancing a plate of ginger nuts upon the large swell of her belly.

"How are my girls?" Sherlock asked as he approached her.

"Hungry," Molly laughed. "You should show your parents the nursery, Sherlock. I would have earlier, but I can't climb those stairs right now."

"Oh, yes, we'd love to see it. Molly tells us you set it up yourself; she is so proud of you, as are we," Mrs. Holmes rambled on as she and Mr. Holmes followed him up the stairs.

"I know, they can be terribly insufferable," Mycroft commented when they were out of earshot.

"Oh, I think they're lovely," Molly told him. "You should be more grateful to have them, Mycroft Holmes." Her tone took a sharp turn.

"I am sorry; I wasn't thinking," Mycroft suddenly apologized after remembering that Molly's own parents were long gone. "You're right, of course. I shall try to do better."

"See that you do," Mrs. Hudson piped up. "You never know what you have until it's gone."

"Quite right, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock remarked, stepping into the sitting room with his parents. "Molly, I believe it's time to announce the name." He stood behind his chair that she rested in, his hands on her shoulders, massaging them gently.

"Her name will be Charlotte," Molly smiled. Sherlock's gaze settled on John.

"Charlotte Mary Margaret Holmes," he smirked. The sound of Mary's name sent a shock through John in the best way. He could've sworn that he felt the presence of his dearly departed wife.

"Brilliant name," John choked up.

"Just lovely," Mrs. Holmes beamed.

* * *

When everyone left, the flat was quiet as Molly curled up by Sherlock on the sofa.

"I'm knackered," she yawned.

"Want me to draw a bath for you?" he asked.

"That sounds relaxing. Thank you," Molly told him. "You get brownie points." This was a flirty system she used to return his sweet gestures. It was a playful game they both enjoyed.

"Oh? Well, that's good," Sherlock kissed her cheek. "What can I use them for this time?"

"You can join me in the bath," she winked as they headed towards the bathroom together.


	13. Epilogue

"I'd kill for a coffee…literally," Molly groaned. It was close to four in the morning and she had just finished feeding Charlotte who fell asleep soon after.

"I hope you don't plan to kill me," Sherlock quipped, mug in hand. "I already made you a cup."

"Thank you," Molly smiled wearily.

"Is there anything more I can do?" he asked, following her to the sofa.

"Sherlock, you're already doing everything you possibly can," she told him.

"I know. I just want to be a proficient father and husband," Sherlock admitted.

"You already are; you are more than proficient, my love," Molly replied.

"You think so?" he asked.

"Mhmm," she answered, putting her mug on the table. "Sherlock, you're an amazing father and husband; I couldn't ask for anything better." Her lips pressed against his cheek, lingering a moment before capturing his mouth with hers. He leaned down to slide a box out from under the table.

"Fancy a game of Scrabble?" Sherlock smirked.

"Oh, why not?" Molly agreed.

"The game is on," he winked.

* * *

"Besotted?" she asked after he laid down the last tile.

"Mm, sixty one points," Sherlock replied.

"You were besotted at John's stag night," Molly laughed.

"Not the definition I was referring to," he told her, leaning in close. "I am besotted with you, Molly Holmes." She leaned in closer, their lips a breath away.

"Brownie points," she whispered with a smile. Charlotte began crying then and Molly stood, ready to take care of her.

"I'll do it; just relax, darling," Sherlock kissed her cheek. Molly was filled with a familiar warmth when he reappeared with a calm Charlotte in his arms. He was a natural at fatherhood. She laughed to herself thinking, _is there anything he can't do_? He seated himself next to her on the sofa and they fawned over their daughter together. Her little eyelids fluttered open to look at them, revealing her own cerulean eyes.

"We love you, baby girl," Molly told her, gently stroking the chestnut brown curls on her head.

"Our little miracle," he smiled at his wife.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Besotted has two definitions either meaning drunk or to be deeply in love with someone. Thanks so much for reading, y'all!


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